Title from: safety - greek [Spotify | Youtube].
--
Romantisasi hujan bukanlah sesuatu yang mudah kupahami.
Namun langit kelabu selalu menjadi sesuatu yang indah di kepalaku -
akan asosiasinya tentangmu; langkah kecilmu, celotehan riangmu,
presensi penuhmu, seutuhnya; betapa dirinya kontras bersanding dengan kiranamu.
Dalam segala musim dan cuaca,
hingga kini pun, sesaat sebelum rintik tiba;
selalu akan ada waktu untuk langit kelabu membawaku kembali.
---
I've always been insecure with my writing — in my head, the way these words come together don't make any sense, and reading them is not something anyone would find any pleasure in doing. I never claim to be good with it—or to be good with words, for all that matters, but I just really, really like to write—and that's why I never even told you about things I made for you, or about you.
"You're one of the most articulate person I know in my entire life. You work your words in a magical way, you write wonderfully, you're a wizard."
You craft everything you try to convey carefully and tenderly, never in a mess like I always do in front of you. We are two sides of completely different worlds, which somehow mesh under an odd, yet very specific circumstance, and the way you think I have my way with words while I think you do with yours is a fact that's fascinating, although will never ever be as you are — cause nothing is.
"Or maybe you're just being honest and I still find your every word beautiful. I would feel bad because I couldn't placate you with my words like you do me."
Of everyone I'm dying to impress, you'd be making the top of the list, which was why the fact that you filled the void in my brain right as my fingertips making their way across the keyboard to craft a piece was not a fact I ever uttered specifically to you. It's not like I made them all my deepest, darkest secret—after all, its address plastered for everyone to easily find and judge—but shoving my creation that I know could never compare to how phrases flow as beautiful as yours was something I was dreading to do. For what your existence worth to mine, I don't think my words will do any justice to portray how I feel, and that they will never come close to what you deserve — cause what you do is so much more.
"They're magical, just like you. It's you. You're the best when you're just you."
When I finally got the courage to show one of them to you—of course under influence cause I wouldn't have an ounce of bravery otherwise—despite the mess of jumbled letters and how much of a chaos my train of thoughts were perfectly represented in every single word, I realized why you'd always be the answer of my questions.
It's the way you speak to me, the way your words reach me, the way nothing sounds wrong and comes out wrong when it's yours. Exactly what I needed, when I needed it.
"Thank you for letting me peek into your world, thank you for letting me show you what you think, thank you for taking me in a journey of your feelings."
You, are the definition of magic for me.
You are everything the word magical aims to be.
--
I will always associate you with the feeling of rushed adrenaline, pumping through my entire system.
What's silly was that it would be the default of me dealing with you regardless of the intensity that changes every now and then. We could just be talking about life and society in general, or we could be deep in conversation about you and me (which only happened every blue moon cause you always avoided that for very obvious reasons) — every word, every gesture, the feeling would linger, always.
The hold you have against me is crazy. We all thought you'd be a chapter I closed the second I walked out, or you walked out — two separate occasion only us knew the difference — but it surprised everyone that it is still there. You could be meters away across the room, and the single sweep of your eyes scanning everyone's until they meet mine would still get my blood pumping and my cheeks rosed — if that's even a word, but we both know it is when it comes to me with you.
Every words coming out of you would be the death of me. From you saying that I never failed to amaze you with my silly idealism thoughts, to you just checking up on me to ask if everything's okay and that it's okay if they're not. All sentences, all phrases, each letter rings the same, still shoots jolts and shivers down my spine when it comes to you, when it comes from you, because God knows what kind of spell you put on me.
"I often find myself wondering how you feel about me," you said, though I know you know precisely what I was going to say.